


Nothing To See Here

by ghostofshe



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, One-sided pining, Trans Deacon, Trans Male Character, Unrequited Crush, Voice Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofshe/pseuds/ghostofshe
Summary: Deacon gets a nice view of the Sole Survivor





	Nothing To See Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotot/gifts).



> Written for hotot's prompt, requesting Deacon watching the Sole Survivor. 
> 
> This crosses into a scene from my ongoing fic [Fire & Water](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8285711/chapters/18981743). However the two can be enjoyed separately and the events in this fic will not factor into F&W.

_“Please...”_

Deacon doesn’t mean to watch, at least, not entirely. Snooping might be his game but voyeurism? Well, maybe that’s his game too, sometimes, but usually not quite like this.

He’s just supposed to be delivering a message. L&L is on the move. Clean. Simple. Easy. No need to linger around and get more tangled up in Charmer’s poorly-woven tapestry of shit. No need to… look through a barred door and into an incredibly lascivious portrait of the wasteland’s number one savior and threat.

But hell if it isn’t a nice portrait. Hell if he can bring himself to look away.

Xavier’s got his back to the wall, pants unfastened and pushed down around his thighs, that stranger’s long, pale fingers wrapped around his straining cock. The man’s other hand is tangled in Xavier’s hair, tilting his face upwards, eyes half-lidded.

The sight sends a flash of heat through Deacon almost immediately, licking his lips and pressing his face closer to the bars, trying to get a clearer look. Trying to-

_“Surely you can beg better than that.”_

Deacon shivers. Whoever this stranger is, he’s got a damn nice voice on him. Like the rustle of leaves beneath the feet of some animal, or like a far-off wind. Cold, distant, wrought with intensity. There’s power in that voice, and it has an effect. He watches Xavier tremble beneath the words, before the man’s hand abandons its grip on his hair and instead wraps around his exposed throat. Should be illegal, honest-to-god _illegal_ , for anything to be this hot when he’s not involved. It’s not fair.  
  
The man presses his lips against Xavier’s ear and Deacon strains to listen, his cheek now pushed against the cool metal of the cage door. Can’t quite make it out, only the soft thrum of the man’s voice echoing out towards him.

Deacon presses his lips together and casts a quick look around himself. This is the back entrance to the arena, nothing around but the perimeter wall a few feet behind him. Nobody should happen by this way, except maybe en-route from the barracks down the path…

Not too much risk of being discovered, he figures. No reason to call it quits and miss the show.

 _“Please, sir.”_ Comes Xavier’s voice. Low. Muted.

Deacon’s breath catches in his throat, watching as Xavier thrusts his hips eagerly upwards into the stranger’s touch. Whoever this guy is, he’s got them both literally, and figuratively and whatever-evly, in the palm of his hand. Deacon’s eyes are super-glued to every movement, every stroke, every brush of the man’s thumb over Xavier’s leaking head. Imagining that it’s himself with the Railroad’s own Charmer pressed against the wall, drawing those obscene noises from him. Making him moan and beg, out in the semi-open where any arena patrons still in the stands can more than likely hear.

God. Damn. He’s aching for it already, heat throbbing between his legs. He almost can’t believe himself. The peeping-tom, getting all worked up over the sight of his sort-of-friend, sort-of-colleague, sort-of-flirt-crush, pawed around by a random stranger covered in fresh blood. Not weird. Nope. Not at all. Normal spying activities, nothing to see here.

Except there is. Lots to see, that is.

He sees Xavier lick his lips, reach for the man’s belt. _Yes_ . God he wants to see this stranger’s cock, wants him to fuck Charmer right there in the contestant cage up against the opposite door. His whole body seems to throb along with his dick. Hard and wet and demanding attention.  
  
_“I want to touch you, sir.”_  
_  
_ “Very well.”

It takes a concentrated effort for Deacon to not groan at that. He loves that Charmer doesn’t use the man’s name. He does know it, of course. Heard it the other night. But it’s even easier to insert himself into the man’s place without names. _Sir_ . Apparently Charmer’s into some pretty kinky shit, too. Maybe he’d even like being watched. He smirks at the thought, wouldn’t that be something… Though not as much of _something_ as he needs right now.

He casts another look around. Part of him thinking he doesn’t dare do this, that it’s taking it too far to actually get himself off while peeking in on two unsuspecting lovers.

Well, _lovers_ might not be the right word. But…  
  
Shit. He can’t help it, when he sees no one else around, hears no other footsteps on the path, Deacon unfastens his belt, keeping his eyes locked on the scene before him. Watching Xavier still fumbling with the man’s belt, watching the way his tongue moves between his parted lips.

Deacon doesn’t bother sliding his pants down, just works his hand inside his jeans and inside his boxers. Finding himself swollen and wet, just the sensation of his fingers making him chew his tongue to keep from making any sound. That’s the last thing he needs, to give himself away, ruin his stealth-streak over the touch of his own hand.  
  
God, he’d never hear the end of it.

Brushing his thumb over his head, he braces his other arm against the smooth metal door, not sparing so much as a glance away from Charmer and the stranger. The man’s pants are finally undone, and Deacon arcs into the caress of his fingers as he watches the other man take himself and Xavier in hand, thrusting roughly against him.  

 _“Is this what you wanted?”_ Asks the man and Deacon finds himself nodding, watching as Xavier’s lips move, struggling to form words for a moment.

_“Yessir."_

Deacon adjusts his hand, fingers circling his head now, moving at almost-impossible pace. Feeling like he could come already. The man trails his hand beneath Charmer’s shirt and Deacon imagines how it would feel, sweat-slicked skin and finely hewn muscle… He would not be gentle, either. He would pinch and twist until Xavier was bucking beneath him, crying out in pleasure, screaming _his_ name-

_“Now.”_

And he watches Xavier spill into the stranger’s hand, his seed dripping from those devious fingers. Deacon wants to lick it… and the thought combined with the added push of his own hand sends him over the edge as well, holding himself up against the door as his knees buckle and the pleasure rolls over him, through him, like a bolt of lighting.

As his head clears, he turns away from the door. Now that he’s outside the moment, he doesn’t want to watch anymore. Doesn’t want to acknowledge to his regular inhibited self what he just did. He steps aside as he fastens up his belt, wiping his hand along the side of his jeans.

Normal spy stuff. Nothing to see here.


End file.
